The Itch
by heyheroics
Summary: (for badthingshappenbingo) Lance resists with surprising strength, desperate to continue clawing at his neck. It's shimmering with a fresh layer of blood but underneath Keith can see the torn flesh, the loose flaps of skin, the spasming muscles and tendons, the rapid pulsation of his racing heart.


**Fandom:** Voltron

 **Prompt:** Clawing at own throat w/Lance ( _requested by anon)_

 **Characters:** Keith, Lance (I am a sucker for these two, fight me)

Another entry for badthingshappenbingo (check them out on tumblr!).

 **AN:** I'm too hard on myself, I think. I keep trying to make a full story out of these prompts but they don't need to be that way. Haha screw it lets just post this thing.

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"Diplomats and paladins of Voltron, welcome."

"We came as soon as we heard your call," Lance says with a slight bow. "We look forward to discussing an alliance with you and your people."

Keith bows as well, if only not to seem rude, and allows Lance to do the talking. He's chatty and social with a quirky sort of charm that makes him good diplomat material. Admittedly.

"Of course," Queen Presin nods, clasping her hands gleefully as drinks are served. Bubbly like champagne with a fruity scent. "Cheers, friends."

Lance taps his glass to Presin's. "Cheers," he chirps and downs the entire thing like a shot in a few uncivilized gulps.

The resulting gurgle of Lance's stomach is loud and the blue paladin puts his open hands across his belly to apply pressure carefully.

Keith takes the cue to step forward. "Thanks. If you could, we would like to-"

A low moan sounds from behind him, very much unlike the many sounds that Keith has come to associate with Lance. A sense of _wrong_ hits Keith then, just before a strangled wheeze forces itself way past Lance's quivering lips.

"Sorry," Lance says tightly. The color is already draining from his face. "St-stomach ache."

"Not a stomach ache, Lance," Keith admonishes softly, only vaguely aware that Lance might have actually, even now, been attempting to make a light joke. Keith drops down just in time to keep Lance from crashing to the grassy turf.

If this were a week ago, perhaps Keith would have made a mad dash for the queen, knife poised, but he's made leaps and bounds concerning his impulses. Shiro would tell him to practice prioritizing things when he feels angry. To not let his first emotion guide his next move so easily.

But when Lance rolls onto his side and starts to dry heave, Keith's priorities shift and lock into place. He sees red.

He closes the distance fast, grasping at elegant robes and yanking her close enough to butt heads. "What did you give him? Was it poison!?"

To the point. Has to. Short on time. Lance is groaning, squirming, could very well be _dying_.

Something about Lance being Lance - the Lance that does stupid things without it seeming stupid at the time - makes Keith feel a certain way. A protective tier that runs deeper than he will ever admit. " _Tell me."_

Queen Presin's eyes go from startled to terrified to an eerie calm. "Our people have already sided with the Galra in exchange for our safety from their tyranny. They are many while Voltron are few. Take out some Galra and still they thrive. Take out one little paladin and the entirety of Voltron crumbles. Tell me then, who you think is weaker?"

Lance is shivering now, arms wrapped tightly around his torso and eyes pinched shut. Then he gasps, a horrible, warbled sound that makes Keith's heart stop. Foam bubbles at the corners of Lance's mouth. He chokes on it, writhing and needy for air he suddenly can't get enough of.

Then short, manicured nails find their way to his throat and _drag_ across the skin.

Blood pours over Lance's neck instantly but still he rakes his nails across his jugular desperately, gurgling and squirming because he _can't fucking breathe._

Keith can hardly breathe himself.

"Antidote!" He is seething, pulling on Presin's robes to slam her into the ground, into the lush grass and flowers. "Tell me."

"It is too late, he is already as good as dead."

His knife won't be much of a threat, not when her skin in made of kevlar-like scales and she knows he won't kill his only source of information.

There needs to be a way, though. He refuses to accept otherwise.

Then he sees it. The abandoned glass of poison on the ground, its liquid slowly seeping into the soil. Without missing a beat, he scoops up the soggied dirt and mashes as much as he can into the queen's mouth. He seals her lips with his hands as she gags and sputters and eventually swallows.

As soon as its down, Keith makes a beeline for Lance, reaching for the boy's wrists to restrain them before he tears his own throat with his incessant scrabbling. Lance resists with surprising strength, desperate to continue clawing at his neck. It's shimmering with a fresh layer of blood but underneath Keith can see the torn flesh, the loose flaps of skin, the spasming muscles and tendons, the rapid pulsation of his racing heart.

But at the very least, while damaged, Lance has not yet done anything fatal.

"Lance! Lance!" Keith tries again and again but Lance only tries to bring his hands to his jugular. Keith doesn't know what else to say. "Please stop, Lance, okay? Please stop. Lance, Lance, Lance-"

"Evil creature, how dare you…"

Presin is pulling herself to her feet, hand tenderly clutching her throat in dire anticipation. "Insolent little-"

"You're poisoned just like he is," Keith says, trying to sound even, to display some semblance of calm when he is terrified. He has Lance's wrists tightly in his grasp and painfully ignores the pathetic whine Lance makes when he fails to bring them to his neck. "You can call me names or you can give me an antidote."

A long moment passes as the queen contemplates her options. Keith doesn't think she will willingly let her life end; he hopes not. If she dies, so does Lance.

"What is to keep me from leaving you both here and giving myself the cure?"

 _Damn_.

He won't let his fear show. The pods are too far away for him to drag a struggling Lance to, not when his neck is already torn to ribbons and oozing. Lance is _alive_ so he clings to that thought. He clings to it but Lance can't breathe, he can't breathe, _he can't breathe-_

He hates it. That Lance's life is in the hands of a stranger. It takes a lot of willpower not to ask the queen ' _please.'_

"If he dies, you will be next, be it poison or my own hand. _I will find you._ "

She hesitates, but Keith knows her type. People who don't deserve to live are often the ones who fight the hardest to do so. Presin will not allow herself to perish, even if it means letting Lance live as well.

When her resolve shifts, Keith sees it. His heart beats again, even as he still clings to Lance's flailing limbs.

She stoops to tug at the pretty white flowers at her feet even as she starts to pant in distress, already struggling for air. "Do n… do not say I've never helped the pala...dins of Voltron."

Keith doesnt know what sickens him more; that the queen felt entitled to her safety for being forced to correct a wrong or that Lance could easily have died surrounded by the beautiful flowers that could save him and they would have had no idea.

Presin has already devoured her flower hastily as foam begins to squeeze through her teeth.

Beneath him Lance is crying, frustrated to be restrained while fighting an aching, near-primal itch to tear himself apart.

"I owe you nothing after this," Presin confirms, wasting Keith's precious time and Lance's. Had he not been holding Lance down, he would have killed himself by now. Presin should thank her lucky stars Keith's hands are occupied. "I have given you the cure, but you must let me leave unharmed."

Keith's heated glare rivals the sun. "Why are you still here, then?"

Presin drops the remaining flowers next to him just as Lance emits a high-pitched mewl, and leaves. Keith has never been a fan of letting people get away, but he allows it, turning his attention downwards.

"I'm sorry about this," he growls, throwing a leg over Lance's middle to straddle him, dragging bloodied hands down to pin them under his knees. Lance panics at the new restriction and bucks, but Keith keeps his weight firm and grabs at the flowers, prying Lance's mouth open with one hand while he shoves the plant inside with the other. He doesn't even flinch when Lance chomps down on his fingers.

"Damn it, hold still," he pleads when Lance throws his head back and forth, tongue already working to push the foreign object out of his mouth. But Keith is Lance's only hope and he needs to take advantage of being able to overpower the other boy in this state.

He doesn't know what part of the flower is the cure. The soft pedals, the pollen, the juices within the stem or maybe it's the whole damn thing, so he forces it back into Lance's mouth, mutters a sincere apology and slams both palms over Lance's mouth and nose.

He pushes down, _hard_ , forcing the back of Lance's head into the dirt. Blue eyes widen in fear and panic, pouring heartbreaking sobs into Keith's unrelenting hands, but Keith keeps pushing, heart racing, eyes stinging. "Swallow it, Lance. God damn it just _swallow_."

It's been so long. It's been so long since Lance started suffering and hurting himself, already struggling to breathe as it is. He doesn't know what's worse; Lance clawing himself to death or being suffocated by a friend.

His voice breaks. " _Please."_

Lance's entire body trembles under his weight, petrified and confused, but he swallows. Keith releases his hold and lets Lance suck in the air.

He stays as he is, knees on Lance's palms, his own hands now on Lance's shoulders as they just breathe. He hovers, watching intensely. Lance's face doesn't change, but Keith can feel his breathing calm and the struggling cease.

Eventually Keith removes himself from Lance to sit beside him. At some point, he isn't sure when, Lance has latched onto Keith's hand with his own. Keith doesn't pull away, instead letting himself be Lance's anchor.

Lance's voice, when he speaks, is wispy and strained. "P-pod, please."

Keith can't _help_ it, the short bark of a laugh that he makes. He squeezes Lance's hand once, twice for good measure, then pulls him to his feet. Lance, as expected, leans heavily against him once standing but Keith takes the burden without complaint.

"Don't touch it," Keith warns when he sees Lance's hand mechanically go to the angry red mess that is his throat. It doesn't look good, but Lance isn't _dead_ , and he is grateful for that much.

Lance seems to realize it too, if his stupid response is anything to go by.

"S-saved my ne… my neck, huh?"

On any other day, in another scenario, Keith might have just dropped Lance right then and there out of spite. Today, however, he says nothing and tightens his hold.


End file.
